To my husband on the first day of his 30th year

It was not so long ago that you approached me at a friend’s house, and asked if you could call me sometime and maybe go to dinner. I found this unexpected and ill-timed, (since I had already announced I was moving in a month) but I said yes, and later that week we went out for the first of many meals together. You talked so much, I couldn’t get a word in if I tried. I found you a bit cocky, and a bit nerdly. But I also thought you had beautiful eyes, and more importantly, a beautiful heart. Although you talked and talked the entire night, you spoke of your family, instead of yourself.
Later that night, we sat in your car in the parking lot, and we listened to music. You played your favorite CDs, and you told me how each had moved you, or why you enjoyed it. You walked me to my car, and you were a perfect gentleman. On the way home, I couldn’t decide if you were just really smooth, or in fact, the genuine article.
So when you asked me out again later that week, I accepted. Again and again, you would take me out, and again and again, I would try to convince myself that this would never blossom into anything more than a nice friendship. I had big plans to move and go to graduate school, there was no way I was going to let some guy ruin my plans. But you never stopped.
And as time passed, I realized I didn’t want you to stop. Although I tried my best to play it cool, deep down, all I could think of was when I would get to see you again. I felt like a silly schoolgirl, waiting by the phone. I lost my appetite and my ability to sleep. In one month, I lost 15 pounds. I was always nervous and I felt like I was blushing all the time. My mom said, “oh, honey, it sounds like your in BIG trouble.” I denied her conclusion and when the time came I moved 1300 miles away, as I always said I would.
I only stayed 6 months, and during that time, we spoke every night on the phone for hours. We talked about our childhoods, our families. We told each other our dreams and our fears. We tried to get to know one another as best we could, while still many miles apart. You came up in June to help me move back. We went to my sister’s wedding, and then we got in my car and drove away. I cried, realizing I was really leaving my family for good. I’d never be a child again. One year later, we stood before our families and God, and we committed to one another for life. Little did we know how much this commitment would be tested.
Two months after our wedding, my mom was diagnosed with cancer. I flew home to be with her, and you stayed behind to work. A few weeks later, after two operations and two stints in the ICU, my mom was told that there was nothing more they could do. She was terminal, and had less than a year to live. She also required full-time care, due to the after-effects from the surgery, as well as the placement of the tumor. We agreed I would stay with her and be her caregiver.
You were so gracious, so kind. Within 6 months, you took yourself off the fast-track at work, and requested a transfer up north, so you could be closer to me. Instead of 1200 miles apart, now we were only 400 miles apart. You drove back and forth every weekend and you helped me as I watched my mom quickly deteriorate and slip away from us. You were steadfast, and you were patient, even while I was vicious and hateful. You let me take my sadness and my grief out on you…something I never should have done. You held my hand, and you stood right beside me. When you committed to me on our wedding day, I don’t think this is what you signed up for. Many men in the same situation would have bailed. But you never considered it…and if you did, you never let on. A year after we got the call, and I got on a plane to be with my mom, she passed away. You were right there, letting me lean on you as I buried my mother.
In the next year, I finished up my graduate work, and I became pregnant three times. Again, we stood together while we grieved, every time we learned that our pregnancy had failed, our unborn child would never make it. We held each other, and we remained strong together, convinced that one day we would be parents.
In September of 2006, we learned that we were again pregnant. With cautious optimism, we planned to welcome our child. But there was something wrong, I was very ill, and was not getting better. In fact, I was getting worse. By January, I was admitted to the hospital, where I spent several weeks, very, very ill. Finally, they sent me home, with an IV sticking out of my arm. Not only were you now the sole provider, you were my nurse. Every day for seven months, you got up in the morning before work and you gave me injections, and hooked me up to a machine. You brought me ice water, and you rubbed my back as I wretched. Every day for seven months, you took care of me, as I tried desperately to carry our child to term.
On July 1st, our baby daughter was born, and three weeks later, we celebrated our 3rd wedding anniversary. It sometime feels like we’ve been together half a lifetime, instead of only a few years. In three years of marriage, we have endured what most couples experience over a lifetime. Throughout it all, you have remained steadfast, and strong.
You are an amazing, strong, wonderful, caring man, and I am daily amazed that you chose me for your wife. I thank God every day that he made you, and that you are my husband. I am confident that ours is a marriage that can and will endure. And now, as I look at you, slow dancing in the kitchen with our little girl in your arms, I have to stop for a moment and catch my breath.
Happy Birthday, Bryan. I love you.